Vagabond Roaming
by anameleth
Summary: SPN/Grimm Crossover. Dean and Sam were sent to Portland to investigate a possible creature attack when three mutilated corpses turned up. The brothers never expected to end up chasing the same monster alongside Detective Nick Burkhardt. Dean/Nick. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello readers! This idea hit me so hard I flailed over it for days, and could never stop thinking about it. Before this, I never even thought about crossovers. And now, it's like read ALL the crossovers. This is the fanfiction that brought me out of the 7-year hiatus. Enjoy!**

**Fandom**: Supernatural/Grimm Crossover. Supergrimm.**  
Pairing: **Dean/Nick. Slash.  
**Warnings: **Nothing serious; just cusses, ratings _will_ rise. **  
Disclaimer: **No, of course I don't own either. Do I sound like Kripke? Or Greenwalt, Carpenter and Koufe? I'm simply writing for fun, no harm done.**  
**

**Edit (5/21): **I recently acquired a beta, the lovely desree_rd over at LJ. This chapter has been edited. Thanks Des, for beta'ing! xoxo

* * *

**Vagabond Roaming  
**

A pillow ungracefully landed on Dean's face with a smack. "Agh!" Dean flailed as he jerked awake. "Dude, what the hell?" He pulled the pillow from his face as he sat up and glared at his brother who was across the room half-dressed and packing the weapons.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty." Sam grinned as Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He turned back to zip up the weapon bag and absentmindedly patted it.

"Bobby called." Dean quirked his eyebrow. "He thinks there's something up in Portland. Since we're about an hour away, he thought we should check it out." Sam pulled on a black tie around his neck and set to tie it. Dean got up from the bed, peeling his shirt as he walked to the bathroom.

"What's going on up in Portland?" Dean called out from the bathroom.

"There's been two bodies found mutilated last week and a third body was just found around twenty-five minutes ago," Sam explained.

"What else is new?" Dean muttered. He ducked his head towards the sink, putting out his hand in the rushing water before running his fingers in his hair. He long sacrificed the luxury of shampoo and conditioner, and besides, his short hair didn't require taxing effort. Sam on the other hand... one did wonder.

Sam continued, "Bobby thought it might have to do with a werewolf, since it looks like an animal attack. But he isn't sure because after the first two attacks, the third body that had the same MO didn't coincide with the lunar phases." He tugged on his black suit jacket and straightened the sleeves. "It must be something else."

"So what? We'll head up there and crash the crime scene?" Dean asked as Sam straightened his tie.

"Yup, get your suit on and we'll get out of here."

Dean quickly pulled on his crispest two-piece suit he had in his bag. He shoved his dirty jeans and shirt into the bag, packed his remaining items and hopped out the motel room, putting his shoes on with a tie loose around his neck. He rounded the outdoor stairs and reached the Impala where he saw Sam throwing the bags in the trunk and shutting it. Dean threw his bag in the backseat and got into the driver's seat while Sam wordlessly slid into the passenger seat. The engine roared to life as he ignited the car.

Dean popped in a cassette, turned up the volume on the dash and the intro to _Wherever I May Roam_ by Metallica crooned from the speakers. Sam rolled his eyes and looked out the window. Dean grinned happily as he turned the steering wheel, driving out of the motel heading north towards Portland, fingers thumping against the steering wheel to the beat.

**...**

_Portland, Oregon_

An hour-long drive later and a quick stop for shitty coffee (later), Dean and Sam made it within the city limits of Portland and soon they found the crime scene they needed to be at.

Dean parked the Impala down across the park. He swiftly secured his tie as he and Sam walked over to the scene. A police officer in uniform noticed them and walked up to them. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, hi." Dean said as he and Sam flipped out their badges. "I'm Agent Bonham and this is Agent Page." They tucked their badges after the officer was content and Dean continued, "We're sent to check out your investigation because of the similarities between your recent body and the past two bodies from the week before." The officer nodded and pointed across the crime scene area.

"See him right there? He'd fill you in more than I could. Hey, Burkhardt!"

A dark-haired man, clad in jeans and a dark jacket, kneeling by the mutilated corpse looked up at the sound of his name. A slightly irritated expression graced his face as he saw the two men in crisp suits. Dean surmised that he was the local detective. With _really _nice eyes. "What, Wu?" The man called out and paused his moving hands.

"These feds," he said with slight distaste, "want to know what's up." The police officer, apparently called Wu, crossed his arms. The man called Burkhardt stood up and peeled off the latex gloves. The second thing Dean noticed was that the man seemed to be a slightly shorter than him.

It might not seem that the brothers paid attention to detail or watched the habits of the people they came across during their time on the road. Especially Dean, since Sam was the one that was a stickler for details and information. But Dean did unconsciously pick up on the little things, as he was trained to do as a hunter. Most of the time, some information turned up useless and it just passed by Dean. But for some reason, there was something about this Burkhardt character that set off Dean's instincts. Dean watched as Burkhardt walked over to where they were standing. There was something different about this guy, but he wasn't able to put a finger on it. Thinking it was nothing, he quickly shook off the feeling.

Burkhardt came up to them and after confirming their FBI badges, he stuck out a pale hand towards Sam to shake, his eyes shifting between the two men as they pocketed their badges with practiced synchronized movements.

"Agents Bonham and Page? I'm Detective Nick Burkhardt. I'm in charge of this case, along with my partner over there." He quickly jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards where a dark skinned man was speaking to another cop on the scene. "How can I help you?" He asked as he took Dean's hand and shook it. His skin was _really _pale. Dean thought to himself, this guy might be the first half-decent looking detective they had come across in their travels. He even looked their own age, if not a little younger. Not bad seeing that he seemed to be some big-shot city detective.

"The question is how you can help us. We've been put on your case and we need to know what you know," Dean said effortlessly, keeping in character.

"That's odd." He frowned a little. "We're doing perfectly fine on our own. Why would feds need to intrude now?" The detective rubbed his eye tiredly with the tips of his fingers, as if he had been working the night before.

"Y'know, I think otherwise. This is the third incident with the same MO. Just explain, detective. The sooner we know, the sooner we'll be out of your hair." Sam says, sliding into his mean-Fed personality.

Dean asked, "What happened here?"

The detective looked at the tall brother warily for a moment before giving in. "Alright, well, at this point it looks like an odd animal attack. We're not sure what attacked her. It doesn't look like her body was torn up by teeth, but she does look pretty ripped up. Her organs are missing. These are sure signs of some kind of wild animal attack. We ID'd the victim – her name is Sarah McKellen, just turned 20. Home on a college break visiting her family, apparently." He paused and looked in his small notebook then looked back up. "We're going to take her body to the coroner to see exactly what could have torn her up. I'm guessing maybe a wolf." He pocketed his notebook along with a pen and crossed his arms tightly across his robust chest.

Then Dean saw it. The tick of an eyebrow and the slight tightening of the mouth. To a normal person, this change in facial features would pass over their heads. But body language was one of the tricks that Dean and Sam had to learn as hunters. Sam and Dean glanced at each other, their eyes saying they both saw the same thing. Something was definitely off.

"Really?" Sam paused in writing in his own little black notebook as he glanced back at Burkhardt. Dean stopped playing with the rock beneath his shoes and looked at Burkhardt who seemed very calm. The guy didn't seem like he had anything more to add, but clearly he was hiding something. Either way, neither party was interested to further the conversation.

"Yes," Burkhardt glanced at Dean. "Er, Agent… _Bonham_, right?" At Dean's nod, he continued, "Okay, well... I don't see a reason why feds need to intrude on a normal case. This is a case that I know we can handle."

"No, I don't think so," Dean smiled, eyes eyes crinkling in the corners, coming off as slightly smug when Burkhardt looked startled at his rude response. "I think we have everything. Thanks for your time."

As Dean and Sam walked away, they missed the dark expression that flashed over Burkhardt's face and his glance off to the side as if he was debating something in his mind. He appeared to make up his mind and went back to work on the crime scene, calling for his partner to get going.

Sam nudged Dean as they walked back to the Impala. He tilted his head towards Dean as he asked, "What was that about?"

"Nothing," Dean replied simply, keeping his sight straight ahead.

Sam shrugged. "Alright well, we should go talk to the victim's family then, try to find out more about her."

"Yeah, okay," Dean mumbled and looked behind him, the crime scene now a mere speck across the park.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all the alerts and favorites! I'd appreciate constructive criticism though, since this is my first venture back into the fanfiction world.  
I'm unsure if my writing style is too descriptive or decent enough. Anyway, here's chapter 2! Enjoy!**

**Edit (5/21):** I recently acquired a beta, the lovely desree_rd over at LJ. This chapter has been edited. Thanks Des, for beta'ing! xoxo

* * *

******Vagabond Roaming**  


**Chapter Two  
**

"23 Derry Road, there it is." Sam gestured to a dark blue house down the road. The recent victim's family home looked quaint with its rocking chair set on the porch and white picket fence.

To Dean's dismay, there was a large Great Dane lounging on the porch in front of the door, relaxing in the shade.

Dean pulled to the side of the road and parked the Impala. "Let's hope the guy isn't bite-y", he mumbled.

Sam and Dean got out of the car and shut the doors behind them. They walked across the street towards the house. Dean opened the picketed door and closed it behind them. The Dane's head rose when it heard the gate open and stared unblinkingly at the approaching men in suits.

Dean's steps faltered as they reached the porch but Sam just continued up the stairs. The Dane kept its eyes trained on Sam as he walked around the dog to reach the door. Dean then took that as his cue to walk up the steps and around the dog. The dog stared at him in the same fashion.

"Okay, that dog is creepy," said Dean, watching the dog behind him that was still staring at him as Sam rang the doorbell. Sam chuckled but then his face slid into neutral when the door opened. Dean quickly followed suit, settling into his act.

"Who are—" an older gentleman with greying hair stopped short when he saw the flipped badges. He frowned as they pocketed them. "Fellas, I'm tired of talking to the police. I already said everything I possibly could. Can't you let a family mourn in peace?"

"We're extremely sorry for your loss," admonished Dean. "But we are a different division and we pride ourselves in being more thorough. If you could answer some questions, we'll be able to close the case quickly. It won't take long."

The older gentlemen, presumably the victim's father, sighed. "Alright, come in." He turned to the side to let them in and closed the door. "We can talk in here," he said as he led them through an archway into a room, into what was likely the living room.

Dean and Sam sat down on the love seats across where the victim's father sat on a leather recliner. Once they were settled, Mr. McKellen spoke. "What do you want to know?"

"Has your daughter been acting strange lately? Like out of the norm?" Dean started off.

Mr. McKellen appeared confused by the unexpected question he wasn't expecting. "Strange?"

"Yeah, like eating more often, or sneaking out at night?" Dean trailed off.

"I-I don't know. My Sarah was just home from college break, it's been a while since I actually saw her, but she does regularly call us twice a week," Mr. McKellen said. "But no, she doesn't sneak out at night... she isn't that sort. She is—" he choked, "Sorry, _was _honestly a good girl. She'd tell us if she needed to go out."

"Uh-huh, okay. What about strange... smells?" Sam inquired.

"Smells?"

"Yeah, like sulfur," Sam gestured his hand in the air to nothing.

"…No. Nothing like that." Now Mr. McKellen looked a little disturbed by their questions.

Sam rushed to push the conversation back to as normal as possible. "Could you tell us about your daughter, then?"

"Yeah, speaking of, may I look around your daughter's room?" Dean asked before the victim's father could answer Sam's question.

"Uh, yes. Up the stairs, first door on the right." Mr. McKellen gestured to the stairs.

Dean mumbled a thanks as the man turned back to respond to Sam's question. Dean walked to the stairs and found the room as directed.

He peered into the room to survey it and then walked in. He was glad the room wasn't dreadfully girly. In fact, the victim seemed to have favored green. Dean looked through high school varsity soccer and dance trophies on a shelf and team photos in frames.

Above the bed were multiple photos of the victim and a boy. Some of them were of them kissing. Her boyfriend, Dean guessed. Not a bad looking dude. There were also some pictures of Sarah with her friends.

He walked over to the desk and picked up magazines. A brown book hidden between several textbooks next to the computer caught his eye. He set the magazines down and took the brown book.

It was a leather-bound journal, or more accurately, a diary. He flipped through the pages; she wrote every single day since sometime last year even while in college. His eyebrows rose further and further up towards his hairline with each passing page towards the end.

Wow. Dean let a breath he hadn't known he was holding. While Sarah honestly loved her boyfriend of two years, she also harbored feelings for another person, a close friend – a girl.

Dean felt like he was reading a script of a soap show. It became apparent that she didn't want to leave her boyfriend, Malcolm_,_ because he was a little controlling but she was convinced it was because he loved her too much, so she never acted on her emerging feelings for her friend. However, it was getting increasingly harder each day to stop letting lingering touches stay on her friend's shoulder or letting her fingers thread through her red hair.

That was hot. Dean paused reading. The victim was really poetic when it came to this girl. He flipped the pages again to look for more clues about anything out of ordinary. Besides her bisexual tendencies, of course. He could find none besides the fact that her last entry was more than a few days before her death. Although it might be good to check in with the victim's boyfriend – he probably could fill in a little more detail. And Dean might be able to figure out why he tried to control her.

Dean decided that he was lingering too long, and exited the room. He found Sam just finishing up his interview with Mr. McKellen.

Sam looked up at Dean who was coming down the stairs. He looked back at Mr. McKellen and stood up. Mr. McKellen stood up as well. Sam took his hand and shook it. "Thank you very much for your time. We'll do our best to close the case as soon as we can. For your family and your daughter."

Mr. McKellen looked grateful. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said as he walked them to the door. "Let me know if I can do anything else for you. Good day." He closed the door behind Sam and Dean.

Dean patted the Great Dane's large head as they walked around the dog and walked back to the Impala. "Alright, so I found that the girl, Sarah had a controlling boyfriend that acted abnormally. She mentioned he had a little odd eating behavior but she didn't really go into it. Maybe we can look into him?" Sam nodded his head in agreement. They both got into the car then Dean started up the Impala and turned down the street. "I got his address."

"'Kay," Sam flipped open his black notepad and read through it.

"Um, another thing…" Dean trailed off, staring at the road ahead. He slowed down at a red light. Sam's silence encouraged him to go on. "When I snooped in Sarah's diary, I found something interesting. Sarah was a closet bisexual."

Sam, to his credit, looked only slightly surprised. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, she loved her boyfriend, er, Malcolm But she had this hardcore crush on her friend, Ellen."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Sam looked back to the road and tugged his tie loose from his collar.

"Well, I thought maybe this Ellen knows something," Dean said.

"Yeah, okay. You can go talk to her and I'll check out the ex." Sam shrugged indifferently. "That okay?"

Dean grinned boyishly. "And meet a real lesbian? I'm down for it."

Sam's response was to roll his eyes.

...

The boyfriend's house wasn't so far from the victim's house. In fact, he lived three streets over in an apartment building that was family-owned. Sam went to the apartment building to speak to the ex-boyfriend at room 405, while Dean drove a couple more streets down to see the victim's friend at her home.

He pulled up to the house and parked. It seemed all the houses on this street were Victorian-style. But Dean never held an interest for architecture. He rang the doorbell and he was greeted to a small red-headed pixie with big green eyes.

She raised an eyebrow at the stranger in the suit. "Um, can I help you?"

Dean flashed his badge. "Agent Bonham. Hi. Ellen, right?"

"Yes...?"

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm investigating Sarah McKellen's death and I came here when it became apparent you two were pretty close. I'd like to know more about her from you if you have time."

"Um, my parents aren't home but if you make it quick..."

Dean nodded. "Of course."

Ellen let Dean into the house and led him into the kitchen where she poured him a glass of lemonade in a show of decent manners.

Dean set the glass down after taking a long sip. "So, tell me all you can."

...

Dean swung back to the apartment to meet Sam and found him standing on the sidewalk. Sam opened the door as Dean pulled up and then got in. "Hey."

"Hey. Find anything?" Dean turned the Impala to the road, fully intent on finding a diner to satisfy his growling stomach.

"Yeah... lots," Sam replied. "Dude, this Malcolm guy is creepy as hell."

"Why?"

"He let me in, okay. All was fine and dandy, but the way he spoke to me, and his _body language_ was so… so…" Sam paused. "He had this strange look on his eyes, it- it's impossible to describe. It was like he knew something, and he just kept _smiling_. And when he talks, it's steady—"

"So—," Dean began to interrupt.

"His girlfriend of two years just died – shouldn't he be _distraught_?"

Dean quieted and gazed at the road ahead of him. "Good point there." Dean's head whipped to a large sign coming upon the horizon. 'Frank's Diner'. Finally, _food_. He pulled into the parking lot and parked the car.

Dean and Sam walked in, the door letting out a jingle, and sat at a table near a window. Sam pulled out his laptop from his bag and opened it, intent on doing research. Dean took off his suit jacket, threw it over the back of the chair and rolled his sleeves up and loosened his tie. Finally, he thought as he sat down and sighed.

He casually surveyed the diner before picking up the greasy menu in front of him, studying his choices. Sam was already ready. When a blonde and busty waitress came by, she took their orders, whilst of course dropping sultry flirtatious moves onto Dean. Dean sat back and simply encouraged her with a wink and a smile.

"What should we do about the creepy ex-boyfriend, then?" Sam asked when the waitress left.

"I dunno. What you explained about him is definitely odd. Should we track him at his place?" Dean got up and walked to the old-time jukebox that was near their table. "See if he does something inhuman?" He looked at the song choices and inserted a couple of coins before selecting a soft rock song.

"Yeah. Just to be sure…" Sam trailed off when the waitress came back with their orders.

An all-American burger and a chicken salad. Dean often wondered if Sam was attempting to shift his preferences to vegetarian.

Dean pulled out a leather-bound book from his suit jacket. "Remember I told you that Sarah had a diary?"

"You stole her _diary_?"

"More like borrowed. Anyway," he flipped open the bound journal. "Sarah wrote down everything. She could've been an awesome chronologist if she was a hunter."

"That's a rather large word for you, Dean."

"Shut up."

Sam simply smiled and leaned on the palm as his hand as Dean continued.

"Anyway. She wrote down a few of his, what she called "outbursts". He would get in these mood swings that cause him to be irrational and cruel, but he never laid a hand on her, at least never in an assault."

"Yeah, he was kind of like that when I spoke to him earlier."

"Still wanna check him out?"

"Definitely. Though let's visit Sarah at the morgue first."

"You got it." Dean was just lifting his super melted cheeseburger with double bacon when the diner bell rang as the door swung open. He paused mid-bite in surprise when a familiar face walked in, followed by another.

It was Detective Burkhardt and his partner.

When he rounded the corner, he caught Dean's eyes and looked equally surprised. Dean dropped his burger and nudged Sam.

Sam looked up in shock as they walked over, hastily shut his laptop and slid into character. "Detectives, what a surprise."

Detective Burkhardt nodded and looked at his partner. "These two fellas are Feds, Agents Bonham and Page. They were at the crime scene earlier today making inquiries. This is my partner Hank."

Dean smirked and raised his beer bottle. "Hey."

"Seems like I caught you both on a break, huh?"

"Yep," Dean lifted his burger again. "Worked 36 hours straight, need a break sometime, right?" He took a couple of bites. "Sit down, if you like. We're in the same business after all," Dean gestured with his half-eaten burger to the two empty seats across them.

"Wouldn't want to impose," Burkhardt said.

"No, no. By all means," Sam smiled tightly.

Hank's phone rang and he took it. He spoke into it for a few seconds and hung up. He nudged his partner and whispered in his ear. Burkhardt nodded, "Yeah sure, I'll see you there." Hank turned and left the diner.

Dean curiously watched Hank leave, guessing he had to do something for the case. Or not. Nick sat down and ordered a bottle of beer and a sandwich when the waitress came around.

"Aren't you on duty?"

Burkhardt grinned boyishly in response. "What my superiors don't know won't hurt them, huh?" He smiled coyly towards Dean.

The waitress returned as quickly as she left with a bottle of beer. The detective gratefully took the bottle as the waitress set down a small club sandwich in front of him.

"I like your attitude, detective," Dean raised his beer.

Burkhardt raised his in recognition and they clinked their beer bottles. "What's your first name, Agent Bonham?"

"John."

"John, okay. We're just a couple of guys having lunch," Nick said before finally taking his bottle away from Dean's. "Just call me Nick."

Dean's eyes flickered up from his plate and his eyes met the detective's. "Nick," he said slowly, as if trying out his name, a little uncomfortable to step into this new territory. Never was really the one to be on a first name basis with somebody on cop pay roll. And it was really not a great idea.

Sam cut in, breaking the silence that arose between them. "What brings you here?"

"Food break, my partner and I were on our way to the coroner," Nick said, sipping his beer. "Gonna see what they've found, the usual. He had an errand to run, so he'll be missed."

"Sounds fun."

Nick hummed in response.

Dean leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. "Suppose you won't let us know about what you find at the coroners later, huh?"

"Hmm, no I don't think so," Nick smiled playfully. "Suppose it'd be fun to let you Feds do some dirty work."

"Rude," Dean pouted jokingly.

"Well, you know…" Nick laughed.

They chatted away for many minutes, seemingly hitting it off while Dean barely had to stay in character. Soon though, Sam grew incredibly awkward and felt like a moose at the table. He nudged Dean and leaned towards his ear to whisper, "Dude, we can't stay long. We'd risk getting caught in the act."

"Relax."

"No I can't, man. We're just lucky he doesn't recognize us as fugitives," Sam whispered frantically.

Dean looked at the detective who was looking at him as they talked, although he seemed to be doing his best to show he wasn't trying to listen. The guy was good.

And Sam was right. This was getting dangerous. It was time to go.

Dean leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms behind his head. "Weeell, we gotta get goin'." He sighed as he released his arms.

Sam discreetly pulled out some cash, which may or may not have been legally obtained, and covered the bill for both himself and Dean.

Nick put down his sandwich and wiped his hands on his jeans. He put out his hand to Dean while discreetly studying him as a cop would a suspect. Dean kept his gaze calm as he grasped the detective's hand as the other spoke.

"It was nice meeting you both again. Glad you're not your typical straight-laced Feds," he smiled genuinely.

Dean snorted. "You have no idea."

Nick raised an eyebrow but Sam butted in, "Good to see you, detective," he said. He got up, along with Dean.

"See ya around, Nicky." Dean winked and smiled before they left the table and walked out of the diner; the door letting out a jingle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the wait! Here's chapter three. Enjoy! :)**

******Edit (5/21):** I recently acquired a beta, the lovely desree_rd over at LJ. This chapter has been edited. Thanks Des, for beta'ing! xoxo

* * *

**Vagabond Roaming  
**

**Chapter Three  
**

After finding out that Sarah's body was being examined at the local Medical Examiner's Office, the two brothers quickly drove over there before the real detectives had their chance with the body. With a flip of their badges and a pair of charming smiles, the two were entering the coroner's room, about to greet the coroner.

"She was pretty, huh?" The coroner asked noticing the two men in suits entering the room while brushing a stray lock of blonde hair out of the corpse's face. "She still is," she smiled.

Sam felt a little creeped out. "Uh, yeah. Hi. Can you gives us your prelims?"

"You're lucky that you caught me just as I finished. I was going to have my assistant sew her up and grab me a coffee. God knows I need one." The coroner took off her latex gloves and tossed them in the trash before moving her glasses off and rubbing her eyes tiredly. She put them back on and looked at the men. "So, the prelims." She handed Dean a folder from off the desk. "All is in there." She waved dismissively.

Dean flipped open the folder and read through it as Sam examined Sarah, whose whole torso was torn open, revealing an empty pit where organs should be. "Tell me about the missing organs."

"An animal attack happened."

Sam stared at her bluntness.

"That's why it is called prelims, y'know." The coroner shrugged, smirking.

"Okay, well…" Sam flushed from embarrassment, realizing his mistake and corrected himself, "What did you find during the _autopsy_?"

She beckoned Sam over to the left side of Sarah's torso, where her heart would've been under her ribcage. "What do you see?"

"Uh." Sam stared blankly.

Dean appeared by their side and peered over Sarah's body. "Something is off on the skin where it was cut, I think."

"Correct. These tears are also similar to the other two bodies, however the earlier two were cruder, if possible."

"You're talking as if she was torn up by an object," Sam said, bewildered.

"Correct again – two for two. My, my. You feds are quite different from the other ones." Sam and Dean looked at each other at this. "Now, keep going – keep doing that deducing. I like outside opinions."

Sam looked back at the body again and gave another inspection. "Maybe an object, like a saw?"

"Pretty damn close to it," Dean clued in. "It's crude but it's nearly clear cut."

The coroner nodded. "Yes, it's as if someone intended to remove the organs, but probably was inexperienced."

"Inexperienced? Like these bodies were... practice?" Sam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Mhmm. I believe this poor girl's heart was removed while it was still beating."

"Y'think?" Dean asked, actually not all too surprised.

"But y'know, that's my opinion. But that is as far as I can tell, or until the lab says otherwise."

"Alright, thanks." Sam shook hands with the coroner.

"Appreciate it." Dean pulled his best smile, to which the coroner rolled her eyes.

"Don't mention it," she said just before the two men left the morgue.

_So if not a werewolf, what then?_

_It couldn't be human... could it?_

…

It was well past two in the morning. Or was it four? Whatever. Either way, it was too horrifically early in the morning. Dean groaned and attempted to stretch his legs in the tiny boot space in the driver's seat of the Impala – no such luck.

"Fuck." He groaned and cricked his neck and looked over Sam who was watching the apartment building intently with a cup of coffee in his hand. "Dude, anything?"

"Nope."

"Ah, man, He probably won't come out. It's Tuesd- shit, Wednesday morning. Who in their right mind would come out this late? How about we just call it a night?"

"I don't – no, no, wait." He paused before speaking again quietly. "His lights turned on."

Dean leaned over into Sam's space and looked up at the fourth floor window the room of which was the only one lit. There were some shadows dancing around behind the drawn curtains and then the room flickered dark again.

Moments later Malcolm was walking out of the apartment entrance. He stopped on the sidewalk underneath a lit streetlight and shoved his fists in his jacket, shuffling his feet as if he was waiting. Kid was gangly and tall. Almost reminded Dean of someone.

"Think he's waiting for a pick-up?"

"Probably."

A black sketchy-looking van that screams 'hey kids we have candy' pulled up to where Malcolm was standing and he got in, sliding the door shut. The van drove off and turned a corner.

"Follow?"

"Follow."

Dean turned the ignition and headed in the direction the van had driven off. He turned off his headlights and kept his distance from the van so that they would not notice there was another car behind them.

The van kept driving north, leading them towards the outskirts of Portland into the vast open land and forests and winding roads.

Dean had no problem keeping behind the van, but then came along a particularly curvy road.

And the van had vanished.

"What the hell?" Dean pulled over to the side.

Sam got out of the Impala and looked around, Dean followed. "Maybe there's a pathway into the forest?"

Dean walked off towards the forest, away from the road. "Maybe." He pushed aside some bushes here and there. "I don't see any tracks around here. They should've disappeared from here. Maybe they hid the trail."

"Why go to the trouble at this time of the night?"

"Unless they don't want anyone to follow them and hiding their tracks is the best way to do it." Dean pointed out.

"Gotta be," Sam sighed. "Want to head back?"

"Hell yeah."

…

_Fucking libraries._

Dean never liked libraries. They were stuffy places full of nerdy people and old lady librarian hags that did nothing but nag. And the silence. No one should get him started on _that_. Sure, given a few textbooks and a laptop, he would do some research. Just anywhere but a library. A motel was much preferred. After complaining about the place being boring and nerdy for a good whole hour, Sam pretty much kicked Dean out of the library (with some insistence from the librarian) to do anything but be in the there.

Dean kicked a rock as he sluggishly walked along the sidewalk, walking away from the public library. After knocking out for a good five hours, Sam insisted on investigating the victim's family background and learn more about the city of Portland itself. Hence the trip to where they were now. And the place Dean was trying to get away from.

That was six hours ago. It was evening now. Sam still hadn't called Dean whether or not he was done. Either Sam passed out reading too many boring books or was reading past the amount actually needed. Either way, Sam would call when he was ready. Dean's throat itched in thirst and he looked around for a bar. Any bar would do.

He turned right around, recalling passing a bar a few minutes ago.

And collided right into one Detective Nick Burkhardt.

"John."

"Nick! Why is it that we keep bumping into each other like this? You have a crush on me and decided to take up stalking?" He grinned.

"Har har, very funny." Nick shook his head, his cheeks and tip of the ears tinged red; but it just might be the cold. "But no, I was just heading home." He was wrapped up in his jacket, and pulled it closer to escape the chilly November breeze.

Dean sniffed and looked around them. "Hey, you free?"

Nick looked surprised. "Uh."

"If you're not doing anything, really."

"Well, I suppose I'm not…

"Great! You and I are going to get buzzed tonight as two cops off-duty," Dean swung his arm around Nick's shoulders. "I think there's a bar down there."

"Yeah, there is. Not sure if you would wan—"

"Lead the way, detective!" He pushed Nick and patted his back heavily.

And so, that was how Nick found himself on a bar stool nursing his third shot of whiskey and sitting next to a federal agent who he barely knew and who was on his second shot of whiskey. They exchanged tips about handling cases and what beer was good to have on certain kind of days; whether it be a shitty day full of dead bodies or a lazy Sunday. They moved on to more personal topics and eventually to the topic of cars. Even though Nick had a crappy but dependable SUV, Nick secretly harbored and interest in old vintage cars. It wasn't as if he could afford one on detective salary anyhow.

"I see that you drive a gorgeous Impala."

"Yep, '67 Chevy. It's my baby."

"They really let feds drive their own cars?"

"I'm quite a special case."

"I'm curious as to how special."

As they chatted, Dean soon became aware of the bar's environment and saw that women were leaving and more men were taking up the place. Normally this wasn't a huge deal, but then deep rock music started playing and several pairs of guys took to the dance floor and some were promptly making out. Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"The hell?"

Nick glanced over. "Must be gay night."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"No, not really. I did try to warn you earlier, actually. But we're just a couple of guys having a drink, right? Shouldn't really matter."

"Yeah, I guess so," Dean looked away from the crowd, trying to ignore them and focus on the liquor. After a moment of silence, Dean heard a heavy sigh from Nick's direction. He looked over and saw Nick holding what looked like an engagement ring.

"Woah, getting married?"

Nick let out a bitter laugh and took a swig of his whiskey. "No, the opposite actually."

"Got rejected?"

"Something like that."

"Do share."

"I guess I am drunk enough to spill you all the gritty details of my woe," Nick resigned. "But really, it's just…"

When Nick looked over to his side, he saw that John was watching him, casually taking a swig of his whiskey, as if waiting for him to continue. What the hell, why not?

"I had a girlfriend for a really long time and I loved her. And to be honest, I still do. But… maybe I was in love with the idea of her."

"What happened?"

"My… job got in the way."

"Oh?"

"It was getting too dangerous for her. For her to be around me. I wanted to keep her safe from everything. I just wanted someone I could come home to and lay in bed with and cook dinner together." Nick finished his current shot of whiskey and asked the bartender for another before continuing, "I had to keep secrets from her… and her being so stubborn, she needed to know." He hiccuped quietly. "And I-I can't. I can't tell her. It would scare her and she would never see me the same way again. Or the world really. In the e- in the end, she didn't accept my proposal, not as long as I kept everything from her."

"Women." Dean shook his head, patting Nick's shoulder sympathetically. "They get too clingy and need too much information. Us guys need space, y'know? Just like yours, my job is also dangerous and I'm on the road all the time. Detectives and g-men, right?" Dean laughed quietly before continuing, "It is way too risky to involve people. I'm in too deep. It's why I usually don't do longer than one night stands."

"You never had a serious relationship?"

"Well." Dean thought of Lisa and Ben. "I did have a serious relationship once. It was on and off and then we stuck together for a year."

"But?"

"My job." Dean shook his head. "It took me away from them after I spent a year playing house. In the end, if I kept going back to them, I would have just hurt them and cause even more problems."

"So you and me both," Nick mumbled. "The world isn't so lonely anymore."

When they both trailed into silence, the music changed and Nick's head perked up, suddenly in a good mood. Deep booms filled the bar as the multicolored lights flickered along with the beats.

"Oh great! This is a really good song." He smiled happily and dragged Dean towards the crowd on the dance floor.

"What— wait. Hey!"

As they stood in the middle of the crowd, Nick said in his ear, "C'mon." He leaned in closer, shoving a thigh in between Dean's legs which elicited a surprised gasp from him. "Let loose." Nick's drunken breaths were puffing over Dean's face and neck and his hands were gripping Dean's hips, thumbs under his shirt.

Holy _shit_.

They were grinding. Dean could feel Nick's package against his thigh, not fully hard, but not fully flaccid either.

Nick was a fucking _guy_.

Dean's hands found Nick's upper arms. Muscles. Not soft twig arms that Dean was used to having wrapped around his neck. Coiled, heated tendons and muscles moving underneath his fingers. A _fucking_ _guy_, Dean repeated in the depths of his mind. His fingers splayed in discomfort as Nick dragged him closer until their abdomens touched and continued to grind him and rock them together to the heavy rock beat.

Soon, Dean found his hips rolling together with Nick's in sync. Dean's head fell back as they continued to grind together, Nick's thigh pushing up Dean's package with force. A warm feeling rushed through the pit of Dean's stomach. Shit, shit, shit, shit! What the fuck, shit? This feels – _oh_. He lost himself in the echoes of the beat that drowned them on the dance floor, blinded by the light strobes.

No. This was _wrong_. Wrong, wrong, wrong. He shoved Nick away, who drunkenly stumbled backwards slightly, but was able to keep upright. "Look man, you're smashed. Let's get you home, okay?"

"But Johnny," Nick leaned into Dean's personal space again. "Dancing is fun. Really really really fun." He took Dean's hands again and he swung them up. "Let's dance! It's one of the best things to do in life." He grinned toothily. He moved his hips in a way straight men (_Wait, was he even straight? He used to have a girlfriend, right?_) couldn't - well, _really_ shouldn't be able to do.

And Dean was most definitely straight.

Nick's grey shirt was slightly damp from the gathering sweat on the chest area and the hem rose every time his arms went above his head, revealing a strip of skin.

Totally.

His hips moved with the beat, his jeans were slung low and looked tight from perspiration and movement. He threw his head down and swayed his arms while moving faster as the beat of the drums quickened.

Undeniably.

He opened his eyes, which were glazed over from the liquor, and smiled.

_Straight._

Dean's cellphone buzzed in his back pocket. A distraction, thank go— oh shit. Dean completely forgot about Sam in the library and their research mission today. "Shit. Nicky, man we gotta go. We need to get you home." He grabbed Nick's hand and coaxingly tugged him towards the table to get their jackets and left the bar.

Nick stumbled over his steps as he was gently tugged down the sidewalk. "Johnnyyy, wait." He hiccupped. Dean stopped and turned to him, letting go of his hand.

"Man, you're really smashed. Here," He shook his head and pulled Nick's jacket over his shoulders. "You're gonna get a cold." He patted Nick's shoulder absentmindedly.

"You're too nice," Nick smiled happily again before his face dropped. "Too nice." His eyes dropped to the gum-covered sidewalk. He sniffed.

Dean became startled when he saw that Nick was suddenly crying – was he a bipolar drunk or something?

Nick hiccuped again drunkenly and practically threw himself into Dean who had no choice but to catch him. He awkwardly wrapped an arm around Nick's broad shoulders in a half-hug. Nick nuzzled into Dean's neck. Oh. So maybe he's an affectionate drunk.

Awkward.

Dean's cellphone buzzed again and this time he took it. "Hey."

"_Dean!_" Sam's voice. "_Where the _hell_ are you?_" He sounded angry. "_I tried calling you hours ago but my call keeps falling through. Are you okay? Don't tell me you went to a bar. Dean, we're on a—_"

"Dean...?" Dean nearly jumped out of his skin.

Crap.

Dean rushed through explaining. "Don't worry, man. Probably bad reception area. I'm fine. I'm not really buzzed enough anyway. I'm near the motel so I'll meet you there?"

"_Fine_," Sam grumbled on the other line. Dean had a feeling he wasn't gonna let this go.

"See ya," and he hung up.

Dean looked down to give Nick an explanation about Sam's big-mouth, but stopped when he saw that Nick was passed out, snoring softly, with his face still in the crook of his neck. Right. Drunken bastard.

Chances were that he wouldn't remember this come morning.

Speaking of which, how was he going to get this guy home? Dean felt around Nick's pockets and found a cellphone in the jacket. He flipped it open and looked through the contacts. Perfect, found a familiar name. He rang Hank's number and the line was picked up after the second ring.

_"__Nngh, hello?__"_

"Hey! Hank, it's Agent John Bonham."

A pause. "_Why the hell are you on Nick's phone_?"

"About that, he sorta… tanked. Think you could come around and pick him up?"

"_Seriously? Now of all times?_" Dean heard a sigh. "_Yeah, yeah I can do that. Where you at?_"

"The Drunken Stork bar on… uh, Highland Street."

"_Uh, alright. Think you can wait for 20 minutes?_"

"Can do."

"_Thanks. See you soon,_" and Hank hung up.

Dean pocketed Nick's phone back into the jacket and pulled Nick over to the bench. He maneuvered him into the seat until he could support himself, passed out drunk and all. His head lolled back as he continued to sleep. Dean sat down next to him and watched the empty street.

He wondered how he got here in the first place.

And then remembered that _he_ was the one that invited him. Oh. Right, well. Tonight was… Dean paused mid-thought. Crap, he really wanted to get drunk and forget everything that had happened in there. He didn't understand it and would really rather not deal with it. He was in the middle of a job. Shit.

Dean sighed and rubbed his face, troubled, and then felt a weight on his shoulder. Nick's head had fallen down onto it. Dean crossed his arms and closed his eyes. A little shuteye wouldn't hurt, right? There was no one around this part of town... and it was just 20 minutes...

A tentative hand jolted Dean awake and he saw Hank looking down at him. "Woah, you guys get smashed?"

"He did, not me. Lucky bastard," Dean looked over Nick who was still sleeping on his shoulder. "C'mon man," He stood up, maneuvering the drunken detective to his feet. "Will you be able to get him?"

"Yep, it's not a problem," Hank took Nick's arm and slung it around his own neck. "It's a little weird seeing you like this. Often that is."

"No kidding. Small town, huh?"

"Yeah. Hey, thanks a lot," he turned towards a parked vehicle on the road, dragging Nick into the car.

Dean watched the car turn down the street and sighed for the umpteenth time. Man, he needed to get laid. He walked down the sidewalk heading back to the motel, not looking forwards to Sam's insistent nagging. Joy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the long wait! Here's chapter four; it's finally building up~ I hope everyone enjoys this! ****  
**

**Reviews are _super_ appreciated. :)**

******Special thanks to Des for beta'ing! xoxo**

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**Vagabond Roaming  
**

**Chapter Four**

When Dean finally turned up at the motel, Sam chewed him out for disappearing for so long without calling. Dean shot insults right back at him, since Sam _actually _fell asleep while reading in the library, therefore he couldn't say anything against him. Dean wouldn't let Sam live it down: "Fine, you win this time." "Of course I do." "Next time call me, okay?" "Aww, was my baby brother worried?" "Shut up."

They both turned in for sleep and awoke in the early afternoon to do more research on every local disappearance, while seeking the similarity and differences between the victims, and looking into every single possibility.

It was late in the evening the same day when the two brothers drove down to the apartment complex where Malcolm lived. They were going to track him down again, figure out where he disappeared off to - creature or not. One did have to admit his late-night trips were weird. He was up to something; either he was getting high off pot with a group of friends in the middle of the forest at 4 AM or he was a fugly, which Dean affectionately called "unnatural" creatures. If he was not a fugly, then the guy had to be at the very least involved. Dean would be _so _pissed off if it were the former. He didn't stay up this late for a kid getting high with his pothead friends. It wasn't long before Malcolm came out of the apartment building and was picked up by a familiar van.

Dean followed the black van a little closer than last time but still far away enough to ensure that they wouldn't be noticed. This time, they followed the van into the forest on a hidden trail. It was covered by bushes which explained how they did not see it the night before. The trail was many feet into the forest, leading away from the main road. Dean slowed the Impala while the van kept going. Dean parked his baby in a bush and with Sam's help, covered the car with broken branches.

"A hidden trail, huh?"

"Looks like there's a clearing up ahead," Sam walked a little faster, still hearing the trees rustling and the van's engines. "C'mon, let's catch up."

They both stealthily ran between the trees, and soon arrived at a large clearing. They saw the van coming up to a small and battered wooden shack. Two men, one of which was Malcolm, got out of the van and went inside the shelter.

Once they were in, the brothers waited a few minutes before moving towards the dilapidated shack. Sam held up his gun as he crept closer to the door. Dean was following close behind. He knelt below the window only to stand up slightly to look into it discreetly. Locking at Sam, he gestured his head to the door.

Sam nodded and quietly opened the door. Their guns were cocked and held close to their chests. They crept inside; senses heightened and saw it was only one room with a desk set, a cot and a lamp. It looked extremely musty as if it hadn't been used in years. It was also empty.

They relaxed just a little while looking around. They moved the chair back, looked in drawers of the desk, and moved papers around. Sam looked back around the desk area as Dean patted the walls. "Hey."

Dean whipped his head in Sam's direction. "Find something?"

"Yeah, I think so." Sam was knelt down on the floor, picking at the wood. Several of the wood panel shifted as Sam prodded them and finally pushed them out of the way only to reveal a trapdoor. He opened it and let the flap down. He stood up and looked down the trapdoor next to Dean. "Well, then."

"Not really original…"

Sam gave him a weird look then gestured downwards and said, "After you."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the oldest, of course."

"Har har." Dean shifted, disgruntled as he moved into the trapdoor, going down the ladder, which creaked at his every step. When he reached the bottom and found himself in a dimly lit area, he took a quick look around. Once he checked that it appeared clear and there was no immediate danger, he called up for Sam who quietly clambered down the ladder.

Once Sam was next to Dean, they looked around and found themselves in a long hallway that looked like it belonged in a hospital. The floors and the walls looked sterile. After quickly looking into the other smaller, connected rooms, the two brothers quietly approached a set of double-hinged doors at the end of the hallway. They peered through the windows of the doors, one of them on either side. There were no sounds except for metallic creaking and no moving shadows.

Pushing open the doors they slowly walked in, the doors swinging back and forth in their wake until they quietly shut. What they saw made the brothers stop and lower their guns in shock.

The first thing that hit them was the strong stench of something familiar… something akin to iron. _Blood_.

There were tables everywhere and hooks hanging from the ceiling. Metallic shelves scattered around, stocked with jars filled with red liquid. Most rattling of all was the fact there were organs hanging on multiple hooks and even more laid across tables as if they were meat waiting to be cut and cooked for a meal.

Sam walked by a particularly bloody table with organs that had been neatly piled into groups depending on their classification. Hearts, livers, stomach, intestines, you name it. He looked at Dean, his face horrified. Dean looked back as he moved away from the entrails that were hanging from hooks.

"What the hell?" Dean wondered out loud.

A dull thud and a grumble distracted the brothers, prompting them to hurriedly, but silently creep to the direction of the sound. They approached an entryway covered by white curtains, like a hospital setup.

Dean peeked through the crack of the curtain to see a large room that was occupied by Malcolm and the other man that stepped out of the van earlier. There were several metal slab tables and trolleys cluttered with surgical tools.

The men were standing around another man lying on a metal slab. It became apparent that the man was unmoving. In fact, waxen skin gave away the fact that man may have been dead for a while, but appeared to be in good shape (for a corpse anyway).

Another clutter sounded as Malcolm dropped a pair of large scissors similar to gardening scissors. The older man yelled unintelligibly and smacked Malcolm harshly. "Fool! Now you must disinfect the clamps again. This time do it right."

"Sorry, father…"

"Don't _sorry_ me, son. It's bad enough you fucked up with your _girlfriend_," he hissed out the last word. "I had to clean up your _fucking_ mess. Now get the clamps and scissors; show me how to correctly cut out the intestines. This is your fourth practice body, you should be used to this now."

Malcolm's hands were shaking badly as he moved towards the body's abdominal area, carefully avoiding the veins and the other redundant organs. Suddenly, his hand slipped on the slippery surface and the instrument clattered on the floor and blood pooled out of the body's cavity.

The older man smacked Malcolm. "Moron!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't—"

"Let's go." He shoved Malcolm from the table towards another door in the room, away from where the brothers were watching. The door swung shut as their voices faded away down the hallway.

After waiting for a few moments and once they felt that it was clear, they pushed the curtains away as they walked into the room.

"_Humans_?" Sam hissed to Dean who was looking around the corpse and surgical tools on the trolley that was next to the metal slab table.

"Looks like it… I don't think I ever saw anything like this before," Dean said quietly.

"No, wait. Maybe they're not people… anymore?"

"Yeah, or maybe it's kind of like that klepto chick, uh…" He snapped his fingers as he tried to remember. "Don't you remember? We thought she was a ghost but it turned out she was really just a homicidal human."

"Yeah, yeah."

A gunshot rang out in the direction where Malcolm and his father had disappeared. They jumped into action, bursting through the doors and quickly ran down the hallway towards where the sound came from.

The hallway was dimly lit and there were several plastic sheets hanging from the ceiling and hanging between entryways as if this section was under construction. Multiple shadows danced around, casted from hanging lights in the labyrinth.

Feet were pattering nearby as the brothers ran. Sam's long legs allowed him to run faster than Dean and soon he disappeared into a room where some kind of movement must have caught his attention. Dean became startled when he lost sight of his brother.

"Sa—!" Dean started to shout before something pricked the nape of his neck and his vision turned black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's chapter five! Hope you guys love it. I had a blast writing this chapter~**

**Don't forget to review, folks!**

**Also: I might discontinue posting this story on here after this chapter, since the site has been deleting certain stories. I'm concerned since my story will definitely turn explicit (very soon)! ;) That being said, if I do decide this, I will post a new chapter with the information where you can find new updates. Probably over at AO3! That way non-members would be able to read it. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!**

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**Vagabond Roaming**

**Chapter Five**

Dean jolted awake. His vision blurred before focusing. _Great._ He had been caught off guard, smooth move. He quickly recapped what had happened before he had been knocked unconscious. Organs everywhere. Shadows dancing. Sam disappearing. Crap, Sam. Where was he?

He shifted to move but found he couldn't, eyebrows furrowing as he realized his shirts and boots were removed and his limbs were bound by leather straps on some kind of slab.

"Ugh," Dean gritted his teeth as memories of hell flooded his mind and his head became hot while he fought to keep himself on track. His back arched off the table as he struggled against the leather restraints.

He wasn't in hell anymore.

Breathe.

This was real.

Breathe.

This was reality.

Dean breathed through his nose and struggled to calm down. Craning his neck, he surveyed the room to his best extent. His clothes and weapons were piled up on a trolley across the room. Dean sighed a breath of relief when he saw Sam nearby, unconscious and anchored to another slab.

The door clacked open and Dean's head swiveled around to that direction. Malcolm and his father walked in. Dean started to struggle again as they neared him.

"Ah, no no." The older man shushed Dean and placed his hand on Dean's shoulder to still him. "Can't have you wriggling so much when we cut you open!" He smiled as if he was petting a puppy.

"Fuck you."

"Ah, such eloquence." Malcolm's father tutted and followed Dean's eyes that were glancing at the unconscious man at the nearby slab. "Oh yes. Your darling partner was given just a bit of morphine. I wanted him awake when I cut him open. Of course, after I am done with you, you know? Can't have him thrashing around and distracting me when I am working on you."

Malcolm was standing behind his father with his arms around himself, looking very uncomfortable. He was startled when his father jabbed him with his elbow.

"Boy, get the scalpel. "

Malcolm nodded nervously, as he reached for the scalpel on the prepared trolley full of surgical instruments. "Here, father."

The older man frowned as he grabbed the tool out of Malcolm's hand. "Boy, straighten your back and watch carefully."

Malcolm silently nodded in response and looked at Dean from under heavy eyelids, appearing despondent. _I'm sorry_, his eyes seemed to say.

Dean's attention was driven back to the madman holding the scalpel. "Now stay still. Oh wait, you _are_."

Just as the scalpel pricked Dean's skin and caused it to bleed, a gunshot rang out. Dean sighed a breath of relief as the scalpel was discarded in shock and the homicidal surgeon and his son made a run for it.

Now that they were gone, Dean struggled against the restraints again with all the strength he could muster. The leather restraint broke, brittle with years of use and in bad repair. Dean gasped and hastily used his free hand to get the other restraint as quickly as he could; quickly before they come back. But that gunshot, what—

Another pair of hands caught Dean by surprise but he found that they were _helping_ him and were actually removing the restraints. Dean craned his neck and saw the last person he expected to see there.

Nick finally released the leather restraint on Dean's wrist. He smiled warily in greeting, "Hey." Sweat was forming around his temples and he was breathing hard as if he had been running.

Dean sat up as soon as he was released and quickly worked the restraints around his bare ankles open. "Didn't really expect to see you here, man."

Nick look around the room and at the door cautiously before looking back at Dean who finally freed his ankles and was rubbing the redness. "I could say the same thing about you."

Dean noticed the gun sitting in Nick's hip holster. "Suppose since you're prepared, you're aware of what's going on here?"

"Better than you could know."

"Oh?" Dean made an indignant noise as he grabbed his shirts and shoes. He missed Nick's lingering glance as he pulled his t-shirt on and slipped on his jacket, then his boots after shoving his socks on. Dean lifted his small torchlight and pocketed it. He picked up his double barrel gun and cocked it. Nick's eyes glanced down at it and looked back at Dean.

Dean watched as recognition flashed across Nick's face for a brief moment. The other man couldn't know any specifics, but Dean knew well enough what he looked like these days. All the events leading up to now felt like an indescribable amount of weight on his shoulders. Whatever it was Nick had seen, the detective must have understood now there was a lot more to Dean than Nick was aware of.

Before Nick could say another word, a sound just beyond the door grabbed the men's attention. Nick's head swerved to the door and glanced back at Dean who was hurrying to unbuckle his brother from his table. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, just watch yourself."

Nick threw the door open and ran down the hallway, disappearing from Dean's sight. Dean shook Sam's shoulders. "Sam. Sammy, wake up." He pulled Sam into a sitting position, and in a last ditch attempt to wake him up, slapped his cheeks repeatedly.

Sam's eyes blinked open and he groaned, "Dean?"

Dean patted Sam's hair in relief and released him. "I'm right here, buddy. You okay?"

Sam rubbed his face and looked at Dean. "Yeah." He groaned again. "What happened?"

"Dr. Feelbad was trying to cut us up," Dean said as he helped Sam get down from the table. "I guess he likes cutting people up while they're awake. I still don't get why though…"

Sam looked around the room and saw trolleys were knocked over. "What happened here?"

"Remember that big-shot detective? Nick?" Sam nodded. "He's here."

"What? What is he doing here?"

"Guess he's doing his job. He likes to think he knows what he's doing."

"We need to find him."

"Yup, we will." Dean tossed Sam his weapon and the two made their way to the hallway.

Suddenly, Malcolm appeared from a room on the side. His eyes connected with the brothers and widened before he ran away down the hallway, away from them.

Dean and Sam chased him into and out of the rooms down back the same hallway and into several other rooms. It was a maze; all the rooms, albeit small and interconnected, looked the same.

They eventually caught up to him, the distance between them dwindling by the second. Sam's long legs once again gave him an advantage and he launched himself at the . Sam tackled him to the floor, using his large frame to keep Malcolm down.

"No. No! Let me go! Let me go!" Malcolm looked fearful as he struggled under Sam. "Please. Just… please."

Dean was behind them, making sure Sam had the situation under control. "You got him?"

"Yeah." Sam punched Malcolm unconscious just as he tried to slip from under him. "Let's get a chair and tie him up. We still need to find Daddy dearest."

Dean disappeared into the rooms in search of a chair. He came back after finding said chair, along with a piece of rope. "I found these ropes in a wacky room. There were loads of creepy surgical tools hanging up. It looks like several are missing. Daddy dearest probably took some, so watch yourself." He tossed the rope to Sam.

Sam caught the ropes in reflex. "Yeah, okay." He pushed Malcolm, who was still unconscious, into the chair and tied him to it. Tugging the rope for good measure, Sam then stood up and turned to Dean. "I don't think Daddy dearest is even in the building anymore. Or the detective."

"Probably found an escape route. If there's one." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I can go scout the other rooms."

Malcolm groaned; the sound of him awakening grabbed the attention of the brothers. He saw them look at him with intense stares and immediately became frightened. "Please don't hurt me! Please. I didn't want to do anything, please. It was my father."

Sam faced Malcolm. "You're gonna have to share some details if you don't want go get hurt."

"Yes, yes. Anything. Just don't hurt me." Malcolm ducked his head in shame.

Dean nudged Sam. "You watch him, I'll go find Daddy dearest."

Malcolm's head jolted up. "My father? Um. Uh." He looked to Sam to see if he could continue speaking. "There's a makeshift door my dad made in that room ahead on the right. There's stairs leading up to it. Um. It leads to outside. He's probably out there."

"Oh? Thanks, kid." Dean nodded to Sam in silent acknowledgment; his expression saying 'be careful' and walked to the room that Malcolm had indicated.

He found a hidden stairwell and climbed the stairs. He pushed the door, but found it wouldn't budge. Gathering up his strength, Dean tried again and managed to push it open with a small grunt. Branches swooped down in his face.

"Ugh." He pushed the hanging branches out of the way as he made his way into the clearing. Looking back, he saw the door was poking out of a hill surrounded by small trees. He pulled out a small light torch from his pocket and took stock of his surroundings. It was dark still. Bugs were noisily chirping and the winds were low.

Dean walked with caution and kept his senses on alert for any movement. He kept his weapon cocked and ready should he need it. And he would.

A shadow brushed past, shaking the leaves of small trees and bushes. Dean bolted into the same direction and followed the quick-moving shadow. It was moving so quickly it seemed to disappear and reappear in different areas, Dean couldn't keep track of it. "Shit." He stopped and looked around as the shadow dashed around him. Suddenly the shadow switched directions and headed straight towards Dean.

Dean aimed the weapon and fired. Missed. Fired again. The shadow slashed at Dean, catching his chest and shoulders before Dean fired again. "Fuck!" He stumbled back, hastily grabbing the wound on his chest with his free hand. The t-shirt was ripped where the wound was. Blood was seeping through the tears but the claw marks didn't cut too deep to be serious. He would live.

Dean looked around again, breathing through his nose deeply. He knew that this surgeon guy really wasn't human at this point. No human could move this fast. He lifted his gun again, and breathed steadily. He let his senses take control once more. Ears alert for any sound. Eyes trained on the trees for any movement. "Come on…"

No movement.

"Come _on_." He gritted his teeth. "I'm gonna kill you, pal."

_There._ Shadows appeared and danced around Dean, faster than before. Dean fired multiple rounds, following it in a circle, doing his best to keep up with the creature's speed. It came towards Dean again, knocking his weapon out of his hand, splitting the wooden part into two pieces all the while causing Dean to stumble to the ground. Dean fought the creature and kept his arms up over his torso in defense. When the creature backed off, he quickly got to his feet and chased after the creature. Weapon or no weapon, Dean would take him on.

He ran through the trees, pushing wayward branches out of the way and jumping over broken tree trunks. He kept his eyes trained on the multiple shadows cast by the moon and fragmented by the trees, struggling to discern the one he was chasing after. He kept his flashlight trained in the trees, as he ran faster and faster, gathering speed (or was the thing slowing down?)

Dean tackled the shadow down. He fought to control the wriggling body, trying to pin it down. He was losing the fight. He grunted as the creature pushed him over into the ground and effectively pinned him with his arms down; shit, not what he wanted.

"Wait, it's _you_," a familiar voice gasped out.

Dean shone the flashlight at the person on top of him. "Nick?"

Nick's face was revealed, illuminated by Dean's torchlight. "What are you doing here?" Nick asked as he released Dean's arms.

"Chasing Daddy dearest."

Nick looked confused for a moment. "You mean Phil?"

"Malcolm's dad, yeah. Is his name really Phil? Man, it totally doesn't fit him." Dean grunted in pain and let his head hit the ground. "Can you get off? Think you're sitting on a wound or somethin'."

Nick hastily got off Dean, flustered, and apologized. "You're hurt?"

"Yeah, uh, _Phil_ got me I think." Dean sat up and his fingers gingerly touched the deepest wound on his chest that reached all the way to his ribs. "He ripped up a damn good shirt." Dean sighed.

"Let me see," Nick leaned forward before Dean could say anything and moved the strands of fabric. "Give me your torch." He took the flashlight and shone it on the area where the wound was. He squinted when he saw Dean's tattoo. To Nick, it had to look like a satanic symbol, even though _technically_ it wasn't. Avoiding the wound, which apparently didn't seem serious upon closer inspection, his fingers brushed the pentagram-shaped tattoo in curiosity. The flashlight allowed him to see the details of the tattoo and small freckles on Dean's chest. "What's this tattoo?"

"Oh. Uh," Dean stuttered, not really prepared to answer the question. "Well it's—"

The rustling of leaves drew their attention. In the time it took Dean to twist around and face their attacker, a shot rang out and the figure tearing out of the thick tree branches abruptly dropped to the floor. It was Phil that was on the ground, a bullet through his heart. Surprised, he turned back again and saw that Nick was crouching next to him, gun drawn and still smoking.

He blinked as Nick pulled his arm back and shoved his gun into the holster. "Good shot."

"Thanks," Nick said as he stood up, and helped Dean to his feet.

"You're a better shooter than I originally gave credit for."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should."

Suddenly Sam's voice cut through the air, calling Dean's name.

"Oh, crap. Just… uh… we gotta go." Dean wrung his fingers as he spoke then turned and ran back into the direction of the hill with the door, Nick following close behind.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi guys! :) First of all, I am **so** sorry that it was taking incredibly long to get this chapter finished. I had a severe lack of motivation and other stuff was getting in the way, so since I'm sure you guys are dying for this chapter, I am linking the rest of the story to AO3 or LJ for your convenience! If you remember, last chapter said I would link this chapter elsewhere since this story will end up with MA rating in the seventh chapter (yay porn!)

**AO3:** archiveofourown -dot- org (/) works (/) 430665 (/) chapters (/) 831622

**LiveJournal: **thecenturi0n -dot- livejournal -dot- com (/) 1997 -dot- html**  
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Have fun! Thank you for all the reviews alerts and follows on here up until this point.  
Give me some love on the other sites! xoxo


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